


tell me you love me (come back and haunt me)

by moonsandstar_s



Category: Carmilla (Web Series)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-25
Updated: 2015-07-25
Packaged: 2018-04-11 04:39:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,954
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4421705
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moonsandstar_s/pseuds/moonsandstar_s
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>looking back, things almost have a poetic downfall to them; you knew carmilla had scars that you could not reconcile, and that you had secrets behind your smiles, but you did not think they could drive you this far apart. when you look into her eyes, you see a stranger, and yet she is someone you know all too well.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	tell me you love me (come back and haunt me)

_nobody said it was easy  
it's such a shame for us to part  
nobody said it was easy  
no one ever said it would be this hard  
oh, take me back to the start_

\- the scientist, coldplay

° ° °   
**pairing** / carmilla x laura

 **rating** / T 

**summary** / _looking back, things almost have a poetic downfall to them; you knew carmilla had scars that you could not reconcile, and that you had secrets behind your smiles, but you did not think they could drive you this far apart. when you look into her eyes, you see a stranger, and yet she is someone you know all too well._

post 2x15 & 2x16. 

• • •

_/laura/_

 

The sharp bite of emptiness drives its fangs deep into your chest.

It feels strange in the canopy bed, for it to be holding only one. The crescent moon glimmers at its zenith and you sigh. Moonlight, iridescent, filters in silver through the windows; you block out the starlight, stifling memories. The hollow, cold space of Carmilla is empty; she's gone, and it is permanently. 

Your eyes well with tears despite yourself. It's only been a day, after all. You try to console yourself that things will be better tomorrow. But they won't be better, not for a long time. Maybe forever. 

Together, you were indomitable, unstoppable. Alone, every shadow is looming to crumple you. 

Starshine wreathes the sheets. Feeling sleepless, a bitter taste burning your mouth, you stare out at the lit campus outside the dusty window. The patchwork of golden lights against deep darkness looks like a web, a great tendril of fire. The vacant windows, black, look like eyes staring at you. 

Yesterday, everything was looking bright. Now, you cannot even begin to imagine a light at the end of the darkness that winds itself out before your eyes. There's no end to the chasm you've been vaulted into. The darkness under the Lustig, so many months ago, seems to seep into your chest.

Carmilla _left_ you, left you floundering in the shambles of the love you constructed together. She _left_ you, when you needed her most. She _left_ you, at the pinnacle of darkness, the dead of the night, when all you know is daytime. 

It's still sinking in, it's still hard to fathom, but the anger, the bitterness, are tempering your crippling sorrow. 

_"I love you,"_ she had said. 

And yet, she, too, had left. 

You'd heard the quivering crack in her voice, the raw pain in her eyes. She had _meant it_ , that she loved you, perhaps more than she had meant anything in a long time. That much was real. That much was genuine. She showed vulnerability, and you ignored it...

But she gave up. She gave up, like before. She ran before you could say anything, broke it off before you could even say that maybe you loved her, too. 

You can't hate her. 

Because Carmilla is not who you believed, and she didn't choose you, in the end. That's the truth, plain and simple. There was always a certain darkness behind her eyes, secrets behind her smiles, agendas behind her advice. There were holes in Carmilla, the kind that you could not mend. Maybe the girl you fell in love with was just a mask, a façade, and you fell for it heart and soul; maybe it's not, but either way it remains that Carmilla is still a vampire and she isn't who you thought she was. You can turn it over and puzzle it and break your heart again and again, but what good will that do, really? 

_I love you._

The words bounce mockingly through your skull, sharp and edged like razors; they carry a snarling, snarky edge that you know too well. 

_Did I love her?_ You wonder. That thought is scary, and the aching throb of sorrow in your chest certainly stems from deep rooted feelings that center around Carmilla. The feelings are frightening, hard to acknowledge, but they are very, very real. And you muse for a moment, before her face blossoms on your closed eyelids, crystal clear:

Tumbling, darkly crimped hair. Pallid skin. High, haughty cheekbones. Glittering dark eyes. A cold, curling smirk. 

Then, Carmilla as you knew her: soft, dark brown hair, rumpled and messy. Star-kissed skin, dancing with constellations. A soft, shining, adoring expression when you weren't watching her. Eyes that were radiant with some inner warmth whenever she glanced at you. A slight smile that tugged her lips when you kissed her. 

_She_ wasn't a lie- not that Carmilla, the one that she only showed you, the girl she was behind prickly walls, hard eyes, and scathing words. And she did love you, you are certain of that much. The question now is does she love you still, and if she does, why did she leave? And... Do you?

Overwhelming fear embroils you at that, so you abandon the thought, feeling grief and despondency lance through your heart. 

She's gone. And what you shared is over. Feeling ghosts weigh your bones, you stare listlessly at the ceiling, arching rafters lost in shadow. 

Feeling wretched, eyes prickling with the sting of tears, you roll over. 

And when the darkness of sleep rises, you run to meet it. 

. . .

The next day dawns on a surly, angry looking sky, spattered with heavy clouds. The feeling of wretched despair has soured, now a hard stone of anger condensed with bitterness, settled in your chest. There is grief, yes, but you are determined to get actual work done. It'll take your mind off things, and it's useless to sit and wallow. That won't make you feel any better, and it certainly won't save Silas from Mattie's unknown, malicious plots. 

The floorboards creak as you softly pad down them, feet sinking into lush carpet. LaFontaine pokes their head from their bedroom as you pass the ajar door and looks curiously at you. 

"You okay, L?" They say. 

"Never better," you say, forcing a chipper edge in your voice. They frown, sadness in their expression, a knowing glint in their eyes, before they give a quiet _'okay_ ' and shut the door. Alone, you slip downstairs; the warm smell of baking drifts from the kitchen, and you sigh, resigned, before glancing into the main parlor.

Almost immediately, it feels like a dull blow has been dealt to your chest. Carmilla is sprawled on the antique couch, a sleepless look on her face, twitching in dreams. You can see quite distinctly how utterly wrecked she looks, faint tear tracks snaking down her cheeks. 

Through the day, you notice things about her, but you're convinced she's being as vile and monstrous as she can. Maybe it's her way of coping. Maybe she's slipped into old habits. Maybe she's trying to get back at you. Maybe she's finally coming to light with who she is. 

You know it's none of those; you know she's self-destructing, just as Mattie predicted. And your theory is confirmed when she stumbles in, drunk off blood, intoxicated and slurring her words. Your veins chill, ice pluming through your blood at the shattered light in her eyes. Despite everything, you don't want to see her this broken, drinking herself into oblivion, becoming a monster as she thinks herself to be. 

You almost want to take back those words, bury them deeper than you can dig. She watched the video; you're sure of it. She saw you call her a monster, saw you say that you didn't love her, saw you weeping. 

Your eyes flicker from a stack of files to where Carmilla is languid on the couch, staring out the window. She's lucid, surprisingly. 

And then, a thought occurs to you.

_Why did she come back?_

You're fairly certain Mother's apartment houses no good memories for her. The Dean's place has got to be tough, a constant reminder of all she has lost- and now, with you here, it might as well be a self made prison. She must loathe that she's trapped by the Dean's ghost. As far as you understood, their relationship was incredibly twisted, abusive and terribly damaging. The only other option is that she's stayed for the luxurious accommodations, but Carmilla isn't the type to care for materialistic things, as a vampire. She would slum it somewhere if she didn't want to be here. There's nothing, really, she'd want here...

_"If you loved me, you'd stay."_

Like a stone dropping into your mind, the thought flashes through your brain. Your eyes go back to Carmilla. She's _here_. She stayed... By no means are you on good terms, nor are you inclined to throw out an olive branch of peace first, but is this her roundabout way of saying she cares, even a little bit?

Mattie was going to kill you, after all, once Carmilla got tired of you. At the time you had dismissed it as ridiculous, but now that prospect of her coming after you is all too real. Would Carmilla go against her sister to protect you?

You aren't sure. 

Letting out a gusty sigh, you turn back to your work. It doesn't matter, anyways. That vein of conversation is over. Carmilla isn't someone you know any longer.

. . .

You rub your temples, thoroughly troubled; J.P.'s disturbing news about section twenty-three, combined with your own torrential influx of negative emotions and Carmilla's needling at you, have left you fatigued. Tomorrow, you're sure, the tensions will boil to a confrontation. Danny is strained from the insanity of Board meetings, LaFontaine is coping with Perry's stiff silence and J.P.'s adjustment to a vampire, Perry is doubtlessly on edge from all the murder attempts that Mattie has tried, you're reaching your limit with the stresses of fighting evil and forcing your own heartbreak beyond reach. The night is still young, but you are simply unable to work further. 

Perry silently sets a cup of cocoa beside you; you breathe in the warm steam and thank her. She gives a sad, weary sort of smile, placing a hand between your shoulderblades before sweeping out. 

Once she leaves, you hear footsteps- soft, catlike in their silence. A chill trickles down your spine; you can feel intense eyes on your back, boring into you. You chance a look back and there she is, staring at you through sad dark eyes, all pretense of cruelty and abrasiveness dropped in favor of real feeling. She looks _sad,_ just sad, with no harshness or anger, just a leftover, weary sort of regret. 

You look back, shuffling papers, heart thudding in your throat. Ignoring her in idea is easy, but not so simple in real life. Acting a pretense is all well and good, but both of you know it's a lie- that she's drinking herself into oblivion to not deal with her love for you, and you're working yourself to death for the same reasons. Feelings so strong don't dissolve within days, weeks, months. The air tingles with tension. 

But then there are more purposeful footsteps. Heading toward you. Right beside you. Then they've stopped, and you can see her out of your peripherals, merely watching. Waiting. With an unreadable, untouchable blankness. This isn't the angry, tumultuous Carmilla, but it isn't the kind, thoughtful one either. She's adopted a new façade, and it's alarming, because on some level, you could always read her- but this is a language on another level entirely, one that is undecipherable. 

"I thought you were supposed to stay on your side of the room," you fire at her. Silently, she reaches up, tearing down the caution tape in one fell swoop. Yellow lines crumple to the floor.

And the boundaries blur even further.

Feeling something flame in your chest, you narrow your eyes. 

"What do you want, Carmilla?" Your voice is as near a growl as it's ever been. 

She's quiet for a long moment, her gaze brushing, dancing, dusting over the snarling mounts on the walls, the shimmering green veils, the rich crimson-gold blossoms of wallpaper, before her eyes finally rest on you.

"To talk," she says, echoing earlier words. "To rectify some... things."

"Can't stand feeling guilty, can you?" You say bitterly, and her eyes dart away. "That might damper your chances of being all coolly collected. After all, you don't want to seem flawed after running away, do you? I wouldn't worry." Your voice curls with disdain. "It seems to me like you're fine, jibes aside.

She passes her tongue over her lips; in that, you see the ivory of her fangs peeking out, and you remember _monster monster monster_ , a never ending taunt, and maybe some things like love aren't so crazy after all. 

"I mean it, Laura," she insists. Your heart takes a beat too many or skips a bit at that. "And this time, for you to listen to me, to hear what I am saying. As I am, not as who you want me to be."

You stiffen. "If I recall, you ran out first. Even after I asked- no, pleaded- for you to come back. Whatever _this_ is-" you gesture at the void between you- "you brought it on yourself."

She flinches, or at least looks close to guilty, as close as someone like her can get. "The blame isn't all on me. I _told_ you. I'm not a hero, Laura. I tried, at least, tried to be one for you, but I can't live a lie. We've been disillusioned from the start; didn't you feel that, at least? And you just pushed, pushed, pushed, and I tried to come and talk after I ran out, but you were cozied up to Xena. But-" she raises a hand as you open your mouth to protest that her petty jealously is unbecoming, that Danny and you are just friends, despite the ambiguity of the past- "We're alone now. So would you listen?"

You sigh: an exhale whistling defeat as it wings out into the still air between you. You feel your eyes gentle. "These days haven't been easy on me either."

She glances at the empty cookie box and the rapidly chilling hot chocolate, back to the lines of weariness on your face. She places a finger under your chin, forcing your eyes to meet hers. 

"I can see that," she says quietly, eyes studying. She frowns, creases appearing between her brows. "I never meant to hurt you."

 _But I did anyways_ , follows, unspoken. Because you were both fallible. Because some things are irreconcilable. Because sometimes absolution isn't possible, some walls that you both constructed were indomitable. And Carmilla's words float back, borne on time, laced with a wistful kind of sadness: _there is nothing that lasts forever._

"Did you mean it?" You ask, taking in the full of her, and the flaws, too. 

And with a quiet exhale, you let go. 

You let go of your perfectly woven images of heroes. You let go of your ideas of fairytales, of the ideas of cleanly divided good and evil. You let go of Carmilla as you had seen, the girl who was untouchable, unreal, a farce. Perhaps you knew she wasn't what you pictured all along... and you let go of all of it.

And in its place, long-suppressed memories rush in, at first a sluggish trickle, and then a torrent: of whipping emerald willow trees, your mother's warm laugh, of cold winter air pluming out, of dark dresses, of the tang of tears and crumpled metal and screeching tires, the wail of sirens, of a beeping flatline, of your dad's heartbroken face and the cold cleanliness of that churchroom and the casket and all the faux mourners. All of that, of the ideas of loving equaling staying, because your mom didn't stay. Of heroes, because even a hero could not have altered that car crash. And finally, of black and white, because every shade of gray has been within you ever since that cold churchroom nine years ago. 

"Did I mean what?"

"Did you mean..." You falter; something inside you is quaking and trembling furiously. "Did you mean that you loved me?"

She looks astonished at first, caught off guard. Then guarded, then a strange peace sifts and settles over her. "Yes," she says softly, eyes piercing. "But I can't be your hero. You need to know that, and to stop treating me as the illusion you saw. I am myself; a vampire. Mattie's sister. An anti hero. It's a _part_ of me and if you can't-"

"You aren't a monster though," you tell her, swinging your head in frustration. "I shouldn't have said that. I was scared." You realize you're shaking, and she moves forward with two fingers outstretched before slackening. "I was scared."

"Of what?"

And there it is; the root of the problem, the reason, and two simple choices: to tell, or not to tell. 

"Saying I love you," you say, impossibly quiet, "does not meet I will never leave you."

Something like realization and an empathy enters her eyes, and you know she understands. This is deeper than reserve and false pretenses; deeper than your dogged determination and her towering walls. Honesty has never been a factor in this relationship, but here it is now, humming in the air between you. Perhaps this was what you needed to-

"Understand it now?" She's regarding you with trepidation, a tinge of despondency. 

"Yes," you tell her softly, and her hand comes up to caress the back of your neck, and this time, when she kisses you, all the bitterness has evaporated. 

There are no uncertainties, no doubts, no hurt. You feel like you understand now- she's not a hero, she's not a monster.

She is yours, and that is enough. 

• • •


End file.
